


Nostalgic.

by hipbonesofChrist



Category: Fight Club - All Media Types
Genre: Fight Club - Freeform, Heartbreak, Hurt, Love, M/M, Nostalgia, Other, angel face is a smol bean, he needs protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9895379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hipbonesofChrist/pseuds/hipbonesofChrist
Summary: "Angel Face was no longer just a nickname.  It was a cruel joke."Angel realizes that Tyler is an idol to be loved, and loathed.





	

 

It’s like one of those picture viewers they used in the 90’s. You know, the ones that you pressed the button and the scene changed.

Open my mouth. Groan in pain. Bob says, shush, honey.

Click.

Strobe lights flash behind my eyelids and I realize that I am rolling, wheels jiggling and sending my pummelled muscles into unbearable pain. This time I know I’m going to faint.

Click.

I try to open my eyes but one won’t. Something is going in and out of my face and I can tell it’s sharp but I can’t feel anything.

Click.

I open one eye and am being jostled and bumped around. My head is on someone’s lap and there is a humming underneath me. We’re in a car. Look up -- there are huge tits above me. My head is in Big Bob’s lap. A soft keening noise is coming from somewhere -- oh, my mouth. There is only one other person in the car, and they’re driving. I think it’s Space Monkey #8 but I can’t really tell and I can’t really move. I set a record for longest time without passing out.

Then I pass out.

Click.

I think I am awake for good this time when I wake up. I can still only open one eye but the fuzzy, cotton feeling in my head is fading. I feel a little sick. My stomach growls. That’s why.

You’re awake, someone says. I recognize the voice as Tyler’s and feel something wadded up and soft thrown at me. One of my black sweaters -- great. I struggle to sit up on my elbows and realize with a stab of anger that I am laying across the kitchen table. My chest is bare and everything from my collarbone to my hips is blotched with bruises. I almost cry except Tyler wouldn’t stand for it, I knew.

Although what did I know really, I asked myself. He plays around with me and then beats me into the ground, what the fuck does the relationship column in the newspaper say about that? Maybe he’s just helping me to hit bottom. By breaking my heart, my dignity and my nose?

Tyler interrupts my thoughts. Get up, he says, I need to go and I need everyone here. He stands there, watching with those dark blue eyes as I pull on the turtleneck, wincing. He tells me to go to the back room, where misinformation and bomb plans and stuff like that were stored.

I say, go where?

Tyler says, you wouldn’t understand.

Story of my fucking life.

I ask for a mirror. He won’t give me one but I can tell it’s bad because my voice is nasally and destroyed.

He says again, get up.

I said, screw you. I didn’t remember fainting.

I don’t dream, ever, but this time when I pass out I do. I dream of Tyler, fucking me, and I dream that Tyler’s sport-fuck-buddy Marla had never existed. I picture Tyler holding me down to the bed while he pounds into me. When I awake I have an erection. I make my way down to the back room.

The Space Monkeys in there are muttering amongst themselves.

Tyler’s acting batshit, one of them says.

Didn’t Tyler leave, I ask.

He’s here, one of the monkeys responds. But not really here, you know?

I said no, I didn’t.

Tyler is asking where Tyler is, one of them explains.

I remember our love-hate relationship and my face smarts. Maybe he’s bipolar or something, I suggest. I doubt that’s the case.

Yeah, maybe, the guys mumble. Unconvinced.

That’s when Tyler walks in. Face blank and confused, acting like he doesn’t know what the fuck was going on here. He even manages to look pissed at me when he glances over me, which I don't understand since he doesn't have a scratch on him but my angel looks are gone.

My angel looks are gone.

Tears prick my eyes as I realize exactly what my situation is. Angel Face is no longer just a nickname. It is a cruel joke. I take five long, deep breaths and when I look up Tyler is snooping around the bomb plans and was trying to reach into a box.

Fuck no. As much as I loved Tyler, this other side of him, whoever he was right at this moment, was not going to see one single solitary word of the real Tyler’s plans.

What are you doing, he says as I clap my hand over the box. My scar from Tyler’s kiss -- the _real_ Tyler’s kiss -- is painfully visible under these grime streaked fluorescents.

What’s going on here, he dares to ask me.

I answer in the only way I can that doesn’t make me burst into tears.

Sir, I answer, face blank, the first rule of Project Mayhem is you don’t ask questions...sir.

He looks at me like my face has turned green and red simultaneously. I turn and walk away, convinced, and rightly so, that he won't snoop now.

And then I leave the room, sitting in the coat closet like I used to when I was little. Childish, but maybe that was what I needed to be. After all, that was what Tyler was doing, being childish, playing his little game, getting inside my head, then changing his whole entire personality. He's right. We are not special. None of us, not even me. I was foolish to think that was what I had been to him.

It is a full minute before I hear my own shaking sobs and I realize I am crying.

Stop it, you baby, I hear myself whisper, clapping a hand to my mouth to hide the sobs. The word baby, that twisted trigger word of my childhood, stops my crying immediately.

I am not a baby. I do not have a baby face. I am an Angel. I have an Angel Face.

I sniff again. Had, an Angel Face.

I get up from the closet and dust the cobwebs from my clothes, most of which are black now since I've joined Project Mayhem. I remembered when I wore other colors, and then chase the thought away.

Nostalgia. That's what everything will be after this.

**Author's Note:**

> For now, treat this story as completed! However, I might add more if I can think of anything.
> 
> Remember to leave comments and critiques below!


End file.
